


nobody (to call my own)

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-23 08:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: Sid is reminded, suddenly, of the lonely cat in the pet store window, waiting and waiting for someone to take him home, and something in him snaps.





	1. Chapter 1

                                                      

 

Twice a week, Sid allows himself the indulgence of going out to lunch, leaving his office and walking a block to a cafe down the street. There’s a pet store on the way, and he lingers by the window most days, watching the fat, romping puppies and the dozy piles of sleeping kittens. It’s all he’ll allow himself to do. He’s much too busy for a pet, he tells himself, putting thoughts of his empty, lonely apartment out of his mind. It wouldn’t be fair to the animal.

So he walks by twice a week, and he wiggles his fingers against the glass for the kittens to bat at, and tells himself, as he does about most things in his life, that things are fine as they are. Why wish for anything to be different?

***

One day, instead of the usual tiny kittens, there’s a full grown cat in the window. He’s a huge, lanky thing with sleepy eyes and shaggy, unkempt fur. A sign says that he’s on loan from a local animal shelter, featured at the store in hopes that he’ll be more likely to be adopted. He watches Sid back through the glass with an intelligent gaze, then butts his head into it like he’s trying to get Sid to pet him. Sid’s heart twists but he reminds himself of his hours, and keeps walking.

He can’t stop thinking about the cat, through. The kittens and puppies at the store never stay long, adopted with dizzying speed thanks to their cuteness. Nobody seems to want the full grown stray, though. He’s there for weeks, staring forlornly out at the bustling street. Sid has watched him put his paws on the glass and meow at people, as if he wants to be taken home, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Mama!” say one little girl. “Look at him!” The cat is rubbing back and forth along the glass, arching against it like he’s dying for the little girl to pet him.

“Oh no,” laughs the girl’s mother. “Not that monster. Come on, MacKenzie.” Sid swears the cat looks sad as he watches the girl and her mother leave.

“It’ll be okay, bud,” he says to the cat. “Someone’s gonna come get you and love you.”

Sid’s chest feels tight as he walks away. Cat’s don’t have human emotions, he thinks. Sid might be projecting a little too much.

***

Things come to a head a few weeks later. He has an awful day at work. Someone else screws up but Sid gets yelled at by his boss instead. He gets a text from his mom that makes him miss her so much that it hurts. On the way home, clouds prematurely darken the sky, and rain sluices down in icy sheets. Sid stands on the street outside work, heartsick and miserable. He’s got nothing to go home to but an empty apartment, and it feels unbearable.

He’s reminded, suddenly, of the lonely cat in the pet store window, waiting and waiting for someone to take him home, and something in Sid snaps.

Fuck it, he thinks. Sid can’t do a single fucking thing about his own misery but he can sure as hell provide that cat with a better home than a cage in a store window. He makes an abrupt turn and practically sprints down the wet sidewalk, praying he isn’t too late.

***

A store employee is just about to flip the sign from “open” to “closed” when Sid makes it to the shop. They look at him like he’s crazy when he knocks urgently on the glass of the door, but they let him in.

The cat is still there, curled in a ball and looking as miserable as Sid feels. “Hi bud,” Sid croaks at him, and the cat, uncurls, meowing loudly at him and hurrying to the door of his cage to purr at Sid and rub his face against the bars. Sid reaches through to scratch him under the chin, and the purring intensifies and grows even louder. The cat reaches a paw through the bars and bats at Sid’s hand, as if to keep him standing there, and Sid’s eyes fill with tears, for some reason.

“It’s okay, bud,” Sid says. “It’s okay. Let’s go home, eh?”

When the store employee, still looking dubious, opens the cage door, the cat leaps into Sid’s arms. Sid buries his face in his fur, feeling his purring vibrate against Sid’s chest.

“Yeah,” Sid says. “Let’s go home.”


	2. Chapter 2

After letting the cat, who he decided to name Scout on the drive home, out of his carrier, Sid slumps against his front door. 

He watches Scout sniff around, and eyes the three shopping bags of cat supplies piled at his feet. 

What the hell has he done?

 

***

Scout ravenously demolishes a can of cat food, and then leaps onto the table to crouch and watch Sid eat his own dinner.

“This is mine,” Sid says, wondering if he should discipline the cat for jumping on the table. Scout tucks his feet under himself and squeezes his eyes shut, purring loudly, and Sid can’t bring himself to, in the end.

 

***

That night Sid is kind of pathetically excited about not sleeping alone, even if it’s just a cat keeping him company. Scout has curled up to sleep on the sofa, but Sid sticks his head out of the bedroom door and calls to him until he gets up and trots into the room.

He seems hesitant to jump up on the bed but Sid pats the blankets and encourages him until he finally takes the leap. He settles on the empty pillow next to Sid. Sid falls asleep facing that way, hand outstretched to feel the rise and fall of Scout’s side as he breathes.

 

***

Sid hadn’t though having Scout would change much, but it does. Some of the petty annoyances at work are easier to deal with. He just thinks about coming home, Scout’s welcoming yowls loud enough to hear through the closed door before he unlocks it. It makes all the difference, having someone happy to see him when he comes home. Staying late loses its appeal, and Sid finds himself rushing out the door when the workday is over instead of lingering. 

Friday night he gets himself takeout and watches a hockey game. Scout sits bolt upright next to Sid on the couch, and when he isn’t trying to mooch Sid’s food, almost looks like he’s watching the TV, too.

 

***

That Saturday, Scout stretches out luxuriously in a pool of sunlight, belly up, limbs flung out. He’s purring to himself, and it looks so comfortable and warm that Sid is having trouble focusing on the work he’d taken home for the weekend. He keeps looking up from his papers. Scout looks back at him, eyes half squeezed shut in pleasure. He makes a gentle little “mrrr” noise and spreads his toes in another elaborate stretch.

Sid can’t take it anymore. He closes his laptop and heads over to sprawl on the floor next to his cat. The sun is deliciously warm on his skin, and he can just see a patch of blue sky through the window at this angle. Scout rumbles like a motor next to him, butting his head against Sid’s cheek.

“Fine, you were right,” Sid says to him. “This was a good idea.”

 

***

 

Scout has two settings, apparently. Lazy, indulgent hedonism and batshit, manic lunacy. There are times he tears around the house like he’s possessed, pelting after the toys Sid throws for him, batting crumpled balls of paper or aluminum foil around until he inevitably loses them under the couch or the fridge. At times he has so much energy that Sid worries that he isn’t providing him with enough exercise. 

He buys a cat harness at the pet store and watches a couple YouTube videos on cat training. Scout drapes himself over Sid’s shoulders and pats at his face and hair with his paws until Sid gives up in a fit of annoyance and just puts the damn thing on him. Scout doesn’t react at all like Sid feared he would. He submits easily to being put in the harness and seems to ignore its presence. When Sid clips on a leash, he sits patiently at Sid’s feet, like he’s done it all his life.

“Are you a leash savant?” Sid asks him. “What’s the deal, eh? You weird animal.”

In response, Scout gets up, and walks as far as the retractable leash will let him towards the door. He sits down, and looks back at Sid as if to say, Well? Let’s go.

Bemused, Sid gets up, and prepares to take his cat for a walk.

It becomes part of their routine. Scout loves it. He’s pretty good about listening to Sid, but he definitely has his own ideas about where he wants to go. He veers off towards things that catch his fancy, like a comfortable little bakery that Sid had never noticed before, or a musician playing on a street corner. Walking with Scout makes Sid slow down. He’s noticing things about his neighborhood that he’s never taken the time to look at or enjoy before. People smile at him all the time now. It’s an unusual sight, a man walking a cat. Even more unusual when Scout gets tired of walking and leaps up to drape himself over Sid’s shoulders.

The nice Russian lady, who owns the bakery Scout seems to be enamored with, knows both of their names now. She coos over Scout and feeds him bits of the cheese filling she puts in her vatrushkas. She clucks over Sid as well, commenting if he looks tired and insisting he sit down for some tea. It’s nice.

The aloof girl with the nose ring and rainbow hair who works at the bookstore is another of Scout’s conquests. She lets Sid take Scout into the store and lets them sit in one of the chairs by the window, reading, as long as they want.

There’s a food truck near the end of their wandering route that makes absolutely sinful tacos al pastor. The guy who owns it calls Scout “vato” and saves him little unmarinated scraps of fish from the ceviche.

Sid’s happier than he’s ever been, he realizes. Less lonely, more connected to the neighborhood. He’s not just another nondescript dude in a suit, rushing to work—he’s the guy who walks his cat on Saturdays.

At the park one day, Sid meets Marc Andre when his daughters run up and ask to pet Scout and throw his ball for him. Their father apologizes but Sid waves it off, letting the girls have their way. Scout loves kids, never scratching or hissing, just letting them do whatever to him.

Marc Andre is a Canadian transplant as well, and he’s so sunny and hilarious that Sid takes to him instantly. They end up talking for an hour in the park that day, and Sid leaves with his phone number and an invitation to get some drinks at a bar Marc Andre knows that plays hockey games.

“What, no Scout?” Marc Andre teases when Sid slides into the booth at the bar a few days later, He gets introduced to Marc Andre’s wife, Vero, as well as his friend Kris and his wife, Catherine.

Sid supposes he should feel like a fifth wheel but they’re so welcoming and wickedly funny that he doesn’t even care. By the time they leave that night he has an invitation to dinner at Kris and Catherine’s, and a mandate from Vero that he come to their next Habs watch party.

He tells Scout about it, later. He’s past the point of feeling silly about talking to his cat. Scout blinks at him in what feels like approval and goes to sleep in the crook of Sid’s arm.


	3. Chapter 3

Scout and Sid’s new friends aren’t a cure-all, though. Their loving families are both a comfort, and a constant reminder that Sid is alone. Well, except for Scout.

“Not that you aren’t the best, bud,” Sid explains to him. “But you can’t talk back.” Scout answers with one of his weird yowl-y meows.

“In English,” Sid amends.

 

***

His work situation isn’t improving, either. In fact, things are getting worse by the week. Sid often is forced to come home late, where he collapses on the couch. Scout will paw worriedly at Sid’s face and lay across him like he wants to cover as much of Sid as possible.

“I had plans, you know,” Sid says to Scout, muffled by the couch cushions. “I had an interview to write for the sports section of the Post-Gazette. And I got nervous and botched it.” Scout licks his hair and kneads his back.

“Thanks,” Sid tells him.

 

***

One day after a particularly difficult phone call with Taylor, where he’d had to try and sound chipper and positive the entire time, Sid breaks down. He’s not usually a crier, but he rests his head in his arms and lets the scalding hot tears fall as his shoulders shake. Scout wriggles his way into Sid’s arms, purring loudly and nuzzling his face and neck. Sid laughs a little through the tears and buries his face in Scout’s fur.

“I’m a mess, bud,” he tells him. “But at least i have you.”

 

***

Marc Andre, now insisting Sid call him by his nickname of “Flower,” is over at Sid’s apartment with his daughters. Vero is hosting a baby shower for Catherine and Kris’s second, and neither the kids nor her husband were welcome underfoot. The girls have filled Sid’s living room with toys and his place is full of noise and energy. Scout and Estelle are chasing each other in a loop between the kitchen and the living room—it’s hard to tell who’s trying to catch whom.

Flower gives Scout a speculative look over the rim of his child-appropriate Coke.

“He’s got a funny aura, you know, your cat,” he says, apropos of nothing.

“What?” Sid says, laughing a little. “Auras? You..believe in that stuff?”

Flower shrugs, unbothered. “I’ve always just...had a sense about people, you know? Stronger than just, ‘oh he looks nice.’ I knew you were a really good person from the moment I met you.”

“Aw,” Sid says a little sarcastically, feeling himself turn red. “That’s sweet.”

“Lonely though,” Flower adds, and the teasing smile leaves Sid’s face.

“Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing at an imaginary spot on the tabletop. “Guy walking his cat all by himself. Not hard to guess.”

“Sid,” Flower says, voice gentle. “One: you won’t always be. Two: I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Sid admits.

“We should like, purify him,” Flower says, and Sid laughs it off.

“I can so tell you were a goalie in high school,” he tells Flower, and gets a noogie for his trouble.

 

***

Sid puts the conversation out of his mind completely, but a couple nights later, Flower shows up at his doorstep.

“Did you know you can buy the same kind of incense they burn at the Vatican online?” Flower says cheerfully, as he shoulders his way inside.

“What the actual fuck, Flower,” Sid says. “My cat is not  _ possessed _ .”

“No, he’s not, but something’s wrong,” Flower says, and his normally puckish expression is solemn enough to give Sid pause. “I know...I know this sounds crazy, okay? But I think we need to do this.”

Sid stares at him. “The fuck, Flower…if we do this, ritual, or whatever, can we drop this?”

“Forever,” Flower promises. Sid follows him into the living room, wondering if he’s taken leave of his senses.

 

***

They put the little beads of resin incense in a baking tray Sid is resigned to losing, along with some pieces of something called Self Lite charcoal. Sid opens every window in the house, grimly certain he’s going to set off the damn fire alarm.

Flower lights the charcoal, and a smell Sid remembers from his childhood begins to fill the room. Scout, who’d been crouching on the couch watching them intently, blinks at the fragrant smoke that’s begun to billow from the tray.

“I swear, if my landlord finds finds out—” Sid gripes, before Flower shushes him.

“Just give it a minute, Sid, I just know— ”

Scout jumps down from the couch, and takes a few steps toward the tray. He’s staring at it, wide-eyed, when a convulsive shudder goes through him, and he drops to the floor.

“Oh fuck,” Sid cries and starts up, preparing to snatch Scout up out of the smoke.

Before he gets to him, there’s a flash of blinding light.


	4. Chapter 4

Dimly, past the panicked ringing of his own ears, Sid can hear a nonstop volley of filthy Québecois swearing.

_Crisse de câlisse de sacrament de tabarnak d’osti de ciboire-_

But he can’t focus. He can only stare, disbelieving, at the naked man curled in the fetal position on Sid’s living room floor. The man who is lying where Sid’s cat lay a split second before.

Flower lunges forward and grabs the tray of incense. There’s a clatter and the sound of the faucet being turned on. Sid doesn’t move, just stands there, violently trembling hands hanging at his sides.

The man on the floor coughs, harsh and spasmodic. His back is to Sid, and Sid can’t see his face as he raises himself on one elbow, then lets loose with a shocked exclamation in a language Sid doesn’t know.

He manages to get up on his knees, and the small part of Sid’s brain that isn’t vibrating in sheer animal panic clocks the powerful flex of muscle in his back. The man looks at his hands, turning them over, still muttering what sounds like profanity in the same language as before. There’s a “fuck, fucking shit,” or two thrown in there, and for some reason, probably acute hysteria, it makes Sid want to laugh.

Because his cat. Is currently human-shaped. And just said, “shit.”

“So, who the fuck are you?” Flower says, appearing back at Sid’s elbow, having apparently ensured that Sid’s apartment isn’t going to burn down.

The man turns, still sitting crouched on his knees. He has strong features and deep brown eyes, presently wide with shock.

“Evgeni,” he says. “My name is Evgeni Malkin.”

 

***

Sid’s cat is a person. Sid’s cat is over six feet tall and Russian. Sid’s cat is sitting on Sid’s couch with a blanket wrapped around himself, looking dazed and a little miserable.

Sid hasn’t said anything. Can’t really. His brain is a continuous loop of “this is impossible this can’t happen this can’t _be_ happening oh fucking fuck fuck he’s seen me _naked—_ ” et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

“So,” Flower says, “How about you explain to us real quick how this all—” he gestures at Evgeni’s entire person, “—happened.”

Evgeni twists the blanket in his hands. Big, strong-looking hands. How the fuck does he have brain cells left to notice his hands, Sid wonders, not a little hysterically.

  
“I’m from Russia,” Evgeni  begins to explain. “Only one in my family who come to US. When I’m leave home, Mama give me little picture, for praying. Don’t know word.”

“Oh!” Flower says. “An icon, of a saint.”

“Yes,” Evgeni answers. “I’m not think about it a lot, but made Mama feel better so I keep. Not easy move to new country. Feel pretty alone. Want to… belong somewhere. One night I’m feel really bad, so I’m take out icon and try asking for help. Everything go all black. When I’m wake up, I’m cat. So scared. Two days before someone hear me and open door and I’m get out.”

Sid makes an involuntary noise at the idea of Scout—Evgeni, locked up without food or water for two days, panicking and alone. Flower gives him an assessing look but says nothing.

Evgeni continues: “I’m run outside before they can grab me. On street for a while, trying to find food. Got caught and put in shelter. Then store window. Then, with Sid.”

His tone goes soft and affectionate when he gets to Sid’s name. Sid’s heart does a funny little flutter at it.

“Think maybe, that’s it, for me. Going to be cat forever,” Evgeni continues, quietly. “Shorter life, as cat. But think to myself, not so bad, if with Sid.”

Sid stares at him, heart racing, unsure of what he wants to do. He… kind of wants to hug Evgeni. Comfort him with a hand stroking through his hair like he’s Scout again. “With… me,” he says slowly, and watches in fascination as Evgeni blushes bright red.

“Sid… best,” Evgeni says, smiling a little but still not meeting Sid’s gaze. “Not mean to trick you, Sid. I’m sorry.” He looks up then, misery shimmering in his big, dark eyes. They aren’t the same as Scout’s, but they still feel familiar, somehow.

“It’s not your fault,” Sid tells him, wanting desperately for that guilt to leave Evgeni’s expression. “You… didn’t know you weren’t stuck. And I chose you, remember?”

“Yes,” Evgeni says, staring at Sid now. “See you stop by window so many times. Think, would be so nice, go home with you. You look… kind. Maybe little bit lonely. Like me.”

Sid swallows, and studies Evgeni’s face. The expression in his eyes, the line of his jaw, the curve of his generous mouth.

“I talked to you,” Sid says slowly. “I told you everything. You know stuff about me I haven’t told anyone else.” He has a sudden, visceral memory of laying his entire face into Scout’s belly fluff and lamenting the fact that he was destined to be alone forever. 

Evgeni’s eyes close, “Sorry.”

“He said it already,” Flower says evenly. “Not your fault you heard all of it. What you do now, that will be your fault, whatever it is.”

Evgeni scowls. “Wouldn't _hurt_ him, would _never—”_ he spits out a string of murderous sounding Russian at Flower.

Sid—Sid suddenly is just utterly, completely overwhelmed.

“I’m tired,” he says, sounding as dazed as he feels. For the first time he becomes fully aware of the migraine that must have been building behind his eyes for a while now. He stands up, rubbing at his temples. “I need to… go. To bed.”

“Take your pills,” Evgeni says softly. “Before head get worse.”

Sid blinks at him. “Oh god,” he says, and, perhaps not very nobly, flees the room.

 

***

He lies awake in the dark for a long time, listening to the rise and fall of Evgeni’s and Flower’s voices from the living room.

It’s a long, long time before he manages to fall asleep, and the pillow next to his own is empty, and cold.


	5. Chapter 5

                                                    

 

When Sid wakes up the next morning, he just lies there, curled up on top of the covers, still in his clothes from last night. He stares at the ceiling. It’s Saturday. Normally, he’d shower, and eat a leisurely breakfast, Scout twining around his ankles. He and Scout would go on their walk, maybe stop by and see Ludmilla at the bakery, or say hi to Jax at the bookstore. Maybe they’d hang out at the park, then stop by Taco del Sol on the way home.

That’s not going to be happening anymore. He’s… he’s glad for Evgeni’s sake that he’s human again. But Sid takes a moment to let sadness wash over him. Scout was a cat, sure, but he’s Sid’s closest friend. Was. Whatever.

There’s a soft knock on Sid’s door.

“Sid?” Flower says. “You awake? I’m gonna take Evgeni to some friends of his, see what happened to his apartment and his stuff. Can he borrow some clothes?”

“One sec,” Sid croaks, and swings his feet to the floor. He digs through his drawers to find a t shirt and a pair of pants that have a prayer of fitting Evgeni’s vastly different body-type.

One thing at a time.

 

***

Evgeni’s friends are a couple named Sergei and Ksenia Gonchar and there are a lot of hugs and tears and frantic diatribes in Russian when Sid and Flower bring Evgeni by. Sid and Flower sit awkwardly on the couch with cups of tea, while Evgeni apparently tries to come up with a reason why he dropped off of the face of the earth for over six months. A reason besides “I’ve been a cat.” Sid doesn’t envy him the task.

At a lull, when Ksenia has to get up to start lunch and Sergei needs to help one of his daughters find a bandaid for a scraped knee, Evgeni finally turns to Sid and Flower and explains what’s been discussed.

“Lost apartment, of course. They put my things in storage. Not sure where I’m gonna go.” He sighs, and scrubs his hands through his hair. “At least, can cancel missing persons report.”

Sid looks around at the homey but very tiny apartment. The Gonchars have two little girls, and the place already feels a little cramped. There isn’t any room for Evgeni here.

“You can stay with me,” is what Sid suddenly finds coming out of his mouth. “Until you find a new place.” Because Sid is, apparently, a masochist.

Evgeni’s face lights up and his shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks, Sid,” he says, voice warm. Sid has to pretend to look down at his phone for a second to compose himself.

 

***

Flower has to go home after helping Evgeni dig some clothes and personal belongings out of the storage unit. He gives a Sid a long look and asks him if everything is alright before he leaves.

“It’s fine,” Sid says. “No worries.” Flower gives him another look that clearly says “you’re full of shit,” but he needs to go back home to his family, and so he leaves.

It’s weird, and it’s weirdly… not. Evgeni knows how to move around in Sid’s space. Sid doesn’t have to show him where the bathroom is or where the extra linens are like he would a normal new houseguest.

Evgeni goes out on the apartment’s little balcony to call his family once his phone charges, and Sid, not knowing what else to do, sits down to stare at a Coyotes/Jets game without seeing it.

Evgeni eventually comes back inside, and his eyes are red. He looks so, so tired. Sid feels a rush of sympathy,

“Hey,” he says, making Evgeni look up. “You, uh…” he trails off, because duh, he’s obviously not okay. “Things go… ok?”

Evgeni sits on the other side of the sectional and gives a bone-weary sigh. “They keep ask, what happen, where I go. I’m have to make up something. Had to lie. Lie to my own mother” He looks devastated.

“I’m sorry,” Sid says quietly. Evgeni gives him a sad smile. Sid aches to do something, say something, to help him feel better about losing such a big chunk of his life and putting his friends and family through such an ordeal.

“At least… you have thumbs again?” he says, because not only is he a masochist, as previously established, he is also a dumbass.

Evgeni throws his head back, and laughs. Long, and loud, and cathartically. He ends up sprawled across Sid’s sofa like he used to do before. He just takes up a lot more of it.

Sid can’t help but smile in response.

“Yes, Sid,” Evgeni says sounding fond. “Have thumbs. Can talk. Is good. Rest of things, family, new job, will happen.” He sighs. “New job, fuck.” He rolls his head over to look at Sid. “We both need.”

Sid makes a noise in protest, but Evgeni slashes at the air emphatically. “ _Sid_. Need to quit that fucking job. Killing you.”

Sid’s shoulders slump. “Right, yeah. Well, you’d know better than anyone.”

Evgeni flinches. “Know it’s not fair, that I’m know so much about you, Sid.”

Sid leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. “I know some things about you. You hate mornings. You’re impossible to wake up from naps. You love the Russian bakery on 12th, and you…” Sid opens his eyes. “You _like_ hockey, don’t you? You didn’t give a shit if a sitcom or something was on, but it always seemed as if you were watching too when it was hockey.”

“Also, Animal Planet,” Evgeni says sheepishly. “I’m like animals, lots. And house show, especially when Sid get annoyed with people on show and bitch about tile colors.”

“Taupe is just fancy beige—”  Sid protests, before catching himself and laughing.

“And...you’re a really good friend,” he says to Evgeni, when they’re done laughing at Sid for his judgey HGTV habit.

Evgeni sucks in a breath and his eyes go a little suspiciously bright. “Thanks, Sid,” he says. His gaze is warm, and ferevent, and Sid can’t meet it straight on. He doesn’t know what his emotions are doing.

“I’m gonna turn in, I think,” he says, and Evgeni nods.”

“Sleep good, Sid.”

“You too,” Sid says, and goes to bed.

 

***

Sunday, Sid goes for a walk to try and clear his head.

He finds himself in front of the Russian bakery, at a loss. This has been a bad idea. Before he can turn to leave, Ludmilla spots him through the window.

“Sidney!” she says waving him in. “Sit down, have some tea.” She notices that he’s alone. “Where is Scout today?”

“He uh,” Sid’s throat is suddenly tight and his voice cracks embarrassingly. “He… left.”

“Oh, Sidney,” Ludmilla says, laying a hand on his cheek. “He will come back. He loves you.”

“I don’t—no, he doesn’t, it’s. It’s complicated”

Ludmilla smiles at him, eyes knowing. “Miracles, _malchiishka_ , are often so much more complicated than you imagined they’d be.”

Sidney starts at her words, and stares at her. She just smiles at him again and pats his face, before bustling off to get him some tea.

 

***

It’s different, having someone else in the house. At night, Sid curls up and doesn’t miss Scout as much, knowing that Evgeni is asleep on the couch in the living room. 

Monday when he leaves for work, Evgeni is predictably still asleep, but he wakes up enough to sleepily wish Sid a good day at work as Sid prepares to go out the door. He pauses, keys in hand, a little struck by how nice it is, to have someone see you off like this. Well, sort of see you off. All that’s visible of Evgeni is a tuft of brown curls poking out of the duvet he’s burrowed under.

The sight makes him smile.

 

***

He comes home that night, exhausted, to find the house filled with delicious cooking smells and Evgeni singing along to the the radio in the kitchen. He has a terrible voice.

Sid works at the knot in his tie and hesitantly pokes his head in to see what Evgeni’s doing.

“Hey, Sid,” Evgeni says, and smiles at him. Sid wonders if he smiles like that at everyone. He couldn’t possibly, could he? “How was work?”

Sid groans and sits at one of the stools at the counter. He finally gets his tie undone and lets it slide to the floor next to his briefcase.

“So good, huh?” Evgeni says sympathetically. “I hope you don’t mind, I’m go to store and get food, think maybe nice to make dinner.”

“It smells amazing,” Sid says, and Evgeni beams.

“Taste,” he commands, and leans forward with a spoonful of soup. Sid leans forward too and lets Evgeni feed it to him. When he glances up, their faces are suddenly very close, and Evgeni’s dark eyes are boring into him, and his hand is just dwarfing that fucking spoon and—

“Is okay?” Evgeni says worriedly, and Sid recovers as best he can. The soup is good, spicy, and sour somehow. Different, but delicious.

“Amazing,” he breathes, and he’s not sure he’s only talking about the soup. Evgeni blinks at him a moment, before going happily back to chopping a veritable mountain of dill.

“My mama’s solyanka,” he says proudly, and Sid continues to sit at the counter, watching him cook and continue to sing along to the radio, now under his breath. Sid can’t remember the last time he felt this… warm.

 

***

They settle into a routine that feels almost too comfortable. Until Sid reminds himself that it makes sense. They’ve lived together for a while now, after all.

Evgeni asks Sid to call him Zhenya, which he explains is the familiar diminutive of his name. The first time Sid does, Zhenya blushes, to his ears.

 

***

Sid’s asshole of a boss fires him without warning on an incongruently sunny Tuesday. Sid makes his way home with his cardboard box of personal belongings in the front seat next to him, feeling by turns sick and numb.

The instant he’s through the door, Zhenya picks up that something’s wrong. He’s working again, but his hours typically have him getting home before Sid does.

“Sid,” he says worriedly, before his eyes catch on the box of stuff Sid’s holding.

“He fired me,” Sid says woodenly. “After everything. He fired me, point blank.”

Zhenya swears violently in Russian. The sound of it is angry and satisfying. “Piece of shit! After everything you do, after how hard you work?”

Sid carefully sets down his box. He feels like glass, like he’s moments away from shattering into pieces.

“Sid,” Zhenya says. “Sid, look at me.”

Slowly, Sid does as he asks.

“Something I’m want to do for a long time,” Zhenya says softly.

“Oh?” Sid replies, not sure where he’s going with this. Zhenya takes a deep breath. Then opens his arms.

“Ok, Sid?” he asks. “Can… touch you?”

Oh. _Oh_ . Sid suddenly _aches_ for it. He nods, and Zhenya folds him into his arms.

It’s not some perfunctory bro-hug. Zhenya pulls Sid tightly into him with a gentle hand on the back of Sid’s head. He rests his cheek on Sid’s hair, and Sid feels him give a deep, shuddering sigh.

“Sid,” he says, and how, _how_ is he able to put that much tenderness and yearning into a single syllable? Sid melts into him. He’d been starving, he realizes. His body _craving_ touch like this.

“God,” Sid says, and buries his face in Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya sways them a little, soothing a hand up and down Sid’s back.

Sid isn’t sure how long they stay like that, he only knows that when they draw back, he’s swiping at his damp eyes, and having trouble looking away from the plush fullness of Zhenya’s lips. He’s never wanted so desperately to kiss someone before.

He flicks his eyes up to Zhenya’s. “What would you do,” he asks, voice barely more than a whisper. “If I kissed you?”

“Die happy,” Zhenya says, and so Sid surges up to press his mouth to Zhenya’s.

Sid loses himself in the wet heat of him, the slide of their hands over each other’s bodies.

Evgeni’s hands come up to cup Sid’s face, then wind through his hair. He puts his mouth to Sid’s neck, and the hinge of his jaw. When he moves to the hollow between Sid’s collarbones, Sid tilts back his neck with a helpless sigh of Zhenya’s name. He feels Zhenya shudder in response.

Sid loses all track of time, is only away of the places where their bodies touch, arching trails of heat following Zhenya’s hands on him.

Eventually, he has to rest his head against Zhenya’s chest, to catch his breath and try to calm his racing heart. Underneath his ear, he can hear Zhenya’s beating just as fast.

“All this time,” Zhenya sighs into Sid’s hair. He’s just holding him now, wrapped up like he never wants to let go. “ Every day, with you. So beautiful, so sweet. Wanted to hold you like this”

“Not sweet,” Sid grumbles into Zhenya’s chest, cheeks flaming, because he doesn’t know what else to say to something so lovely.

“Sweetest,” Zhenya says affectionately. “First time I’m ever see you, in window, I can’t stop looking. And then you come and take me home with you. Wanted to make you happy, any way I could.”

“Do you still want that?” Sid finds the courage to ask.

“Always,” Zhenya answers, voice rough.

“Then stay. Please,” Sid’s voice cracks alarmingly. “Please stay. Don’t leave me alone again.”

“Of course, Sid. Promise.” And he kisses Sid again, lush, and deep.

 

***

That night, Sid’s bed isn’t cold, and it is the furthest thing from lonely.


	6. Epilogue

It’s Saturday. Sid wakes up with the sun, instead of his alarm. Zhenya, predictably, is still deeply asleep. Sid smiles and cards his fingers through Zhenya’s hair, before sliding out of bed to go get his laptop. He returns to bed and opens a browser tab. His first article is supposed to go up on The Athletic today, and he wants to see if it’s been posted. **  
**

It is. He stares at the byline. There’s his name, in crisp black and white. He wants to do something silly, like kick his feet or fist pump, he’s just so happy.

Zhenya mumbles a little, waking up. He stretches and yawns, and moves to rest his head on Sid’s thigh.

“Mmm. Article up?’ he asks, sleepily. Sid runs his fingers through his hair again.

“Yeah,” he responds, unable to keep the quiet, happy pride out of his voice.

“Let me see,” Zhenya says, and struggles upright, to lean all over Sid as he peers at the laptop screen. “Looks so good!” He busses Sid noisily on the temple. Sid leans back to smile at him.

“We celebrate?” Zhenya says. “See Ludmilla for breakfast?” Sid groans in anticipation, thinking about pastries and sweet Russian tea.

Zhenya kisses him on the forehead. “I’m call Flower and Tanger. We meet everyone for drinks tonight.”

“Really?” Sid exclaims happily.

“Not big party, know you don’t like. But nice to go out with guys and Vero and Catherine. We go to hipster bar you love.”

“It’s not a hipster bar,” Sid protest automatically. “They just use a lot of wood and those old looking light bulbs. The booths are comfortable and the wine list is—”

Zhenya laughs. “I’m know, I’m know, just tease. I’m like too, good whisky menu.” He kisses Sid again before rolling out of bed and heading to the bathroom.

“Zhenya,” Sid calls after him. “Thank you. So much.”

Zhenya gives him a warm smile and goes to brush his teeth.

***

Ludmilla makes a predictable fuss over Sid when Zhenya proudly tells her about Sid’s article. Sid turns bright red, but can’t help but feel warm and happy at Zhenya’s pride in him.

They linger over their tea and pastries, then take a long, meandering walk, Zhenya swinging their clasped hands between them. They stop in at the bookstore so Zhenya can tell Jax about Sid’s article too.

After they get home, instead of taking them up the steps to go inside, Zhenya swerves them toward where Sid had parked their car.

“Where are we going?” Sid asks. Zhenya seems to have become a little bit nervous, glancing at Sid and worrying at his lower lip. “Don’t do that babe, it’s going to start bleeding again.”

“One more idea for today,” Zhenya says, and Sid decides to just nod and go along with it.

Zhenya takes them to an unfamiliar part of the city, parking and taking Sid’s hand to steer him towards a storefront that Sid can see is labeled as “Southside Cat Rescue.”

“Think maybe…” Zhenya says before Sid can say anything. “Maybe might be nice. Know you like me— Scout, when cat. Think maybe, we get another, together?” He laughs nervously. “Like our kid,” he says, and then goes a little pale, like he maybe hadn’t meant to say it.

Sid feels his chest go tight with how much he loves him. He tugs Zhenya down so that he can kiss him. “Sounds great,” he murmurs into Zhenya’s ear, and Zhenya sighs in relief and kisses him back.

Inside, nearly the first cats they see are a bonded pair whose elderly owner had to go into hospice and couldn’t keep them.

“No one wants them to adopt them together, so we might be forced to separate them,” the shelter volunteer tells them.

Zhenya and Sid look at each other. “Black one is named  _Puck_ , Sid,” Zhenya says.

Sid reaches in to pet the head of the other one, a calico named Helena. She purrs at him, and Sid knows already they’re not leaving without them.

“Let’s do it,” he tells Zhenya, and Zhenya beams at him.

Once they and two carriers of apprehensive cat are on their way back to the apartment, Sid issues a non-negotiable caveat: “We’re going to do the incense thing, though. Just in case.”

Zhenya throws his head back and laughs. “Sure,” he says, and takes Sid’s hand to hold over the gear shaft.

“I love you,” he says, looking over at Sid with shining eyes and a wide smile.

“Eyes on the road,” Sid has to warn, making Zhenya laugh again. “And I love you too. So much.” His voice goes soft. “You make me so happy, Zhenya.”

“Good,” Zhenya says, bringing Sid’s hand up to kiss it before he lets it go to put both hands back on the wheel.

And the four of them drive home, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me as creaturesofnarrative (main) and knifeshoeoreofight (hockey blog) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> Partially beta'd by [werebear ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werebear/). All remaining issues are my fault entirely!
> 
> Title is from "Mr. Lonely" by Bobby Vinton
> 
> You can find me as [creaturesofnarrative ](http://creaturesofnarrative.tumblr.com/) (main) and [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) (hockey blog) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!


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